by D. D. Ayres
She blinked. “What?”
He pointed to her phone. “Way I figure it, anyone who makes someone as special as you cry needs murdering.”
He wasn’t sure why he’d said such an outrageous thing. He knew he was talking about her father.
She looked at him in surprise. “You’d take on Bronson Battise?”
“For you? Hell, yeah.” It was supposed to be an empty boast. All the handlers admired Battise’s K-9 training techniques. Some noticed how he treated his daughter. Like less a member of the family than a hired hand. Not his business
Until Yardley laughed, a sound so sexy that it nearly brought him to his knees. Then she’d looked at him with those shining black eyes and he’d heard trumpets sound and swords clash. One glance had him thinking he could slay her dragons and share a happily-ever-after. It was like a goddamn Disney movie playing in his head.
They began meeting in secret. No one could know. By the end of his two weeks he’d known this was love, the real thing. They were going to be together forever.
But he’d underestimated her father.
He’d never forget Battise’s words to him. Youngsters like you are good for sport. But if you think you’re going to get a piece of Harmonie Kennels by shagging my illegitimate daughter then you got shit for brains, son. Bang her all you want. She gets nothing.
As if a man needed any enticement beyond Yardley herself.
But Battise had gone one better. Now get the fuck off my property before I tell your sergeant you aren’t fit to handle one of my K-9s. Your dick or your job. What’s more important to you?
Kye blew out a breath, feeling the heat of that long-ago embarrassment race across his skin. He couldn’t save Yardley. He barely saved his job. The army didn’t let you go. It dishonorably discharged your ass. He left with his unit, without even a good-bye.
Now the damn trumpets were back. Blaring louder than a phalanx of Roman legionnaires announcing their entrance onto the field of battle. Behind it all pounded the drumbeat of desire. He still wanted to be Yard’s hero.
He’d learned something tonight. Not all wars are fought against an enemy. Not all battles take place in combat zones. Sometimes the fight is within, heart against mind against emotions. Three entities roiling and writhing to take control. To be victorious, the three had to turn from enemies into allies.
Yardley could and did fight for everything else in her life: her dogs, her business, her brother. But she didn’t seem to have the first clue about how to protect herself from herself.
She’d kissed him tonight, just like she had the first time twelve years ago, with everything she had. Everything. And he’d wanted more. He still did.
He heard a door open downstairs. He was suddenly so alert he knew he could have heard a dog’s whistle.
He heard whispered footsteps crossing the room below and stopped breathing. He couldn’t hope for anything.
Footfalls on the stairs almost stopped his heart.
When Yardley’s shadow appeared in the open doorway Lily sat up but she didn’t move from her place on the floor.
Yardley didn’t say a word, merely lifted the covers and slid down next to him. Surprise held him still. She settled in and lay flat on her back, not touching him anywhere.
“The generator’s out. I was cold.”
Kye didn’t answer. It really wasn’t important why she was here beside him. Now he had a whole lot of new decisions to make. Or just one.
He slowly moved his hand across the sheet until his little finger met hers. When she didn’t jerk away, he hooked his over hers, curled and held on. “In the morning.”
He felt her relax.
He wanted her in the worst way. Wanted her so badly it hurt to breathe. But he’d seen her bruises. The last thing she needed to know after Stokes’s assault was that the man she trusted enough to climb into bed with for a sense of safety and comfort was lusting after her like a dog.
She needed to know there was refuge here. In the dark. In this bed. With him beside her.
He took a deep breath. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so hard to sleep after all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kye woke to Yard swearing like a drill sergeant. He sat up, muscles tightening for combat even before his eyes were open.
She was sitting beside him on the bed in the half-light of dawn.
“You’re shaking like a leaf.”
She shrugged off his touch on her shoulder. “Bad memories.”
“Of last night?”
She gave her head the barest shake. “Something that happened before.”
Kye’s whole body tensed. “What happened before?”
“Nothing.”
“Try again.”
She was silent so long he thought she wouldn’t answer. “The week after you left rumor got around Harmonie Kennels that I was putting out.”
Kye swore under his breath. “I don’t expect you to believe me. But I didn’t tell anyone about us. Not even Law.”
“Whatever.” Her voice was flat. “Some guy caught me hosing down the cages while training was going on. He—” She bit her broken lip hard, causing it to bleed freely. She didn’t seem to notice. “Bronson came in. Beat the guy half to death before some of the staff heard me screaming and came to pull him off.”
“At least he behaved like a father that time.”
She turned only her head to look at him, her eyes so dark with remembered pain it was hard to hold her gaze. “Bronson blamed me. He said it was my fault he had to half kill a decent man as an example so other handlers wouldn’t let themselves be seduced by me. It was bad for business.”
Bad for business. The words made Kye want to hit something but he didn’t dare scare her confession away. “And?”
“My father said he’d known about us but that he’d let it go as a onetime fuck.” She swallowed. “However, if I wanted to be a slut like my mother, I’d have to do that somewhere else.”
Kye thought quickly through what she had told him, trying to keep his anger out of his calculations. But doing that felt like sitting on a rumbling volcano.
Fact one: Word had gotten out that he and Yard had been together. He supposed someone besides Bronson must have seen them. Young lovers were often reckless when they thought they were being discreet. Had the way he looked at her given them away?
Fact two: Shortly after he’d left, a guy had tried to rape Yard.
Shit. Little eruptions of anger broke through his defenses, making his heart pound.
Fact three: Bronson had beat the assailant to a bloody pulp—not to avenge his daughter, but to protect his business.
Kye’s fists curled down tight, abraded knuckles itching to hit something, hard. “Why did you stay with Battise?”
“I had nowhere else to go. I’d enlisted in the army at eighteen because it was the best option to get away from the reservation.”
“You went to war?”
“It was easier in some ways than reservation life.” She shot him a dark look that dared him to ask her about that. “As my first tour of duty was coming to a close, I was suddenly out on my ass with discharge papers when everyone else was being stop-lossed with extensions. Once stateside, I learned Bronson had pulled some strings with the military, saying I was more valuable at Harmonie Kennels to help train military dogs.”
Kye whistled. “I knew he had pull. But to get you out of the army in wartime?”
She shrugged. “Bronson always got what he wanted. He promised to pay my college tuition for the fall semester if I’d work for him. So I agreed. But after the incident he took back that promise. He said I had to work for free. The bills for the guy he had to beat up were coming out of my wages.”
“Jesus, Yardley. No wonder you hate me.”
“No. What happened was my fault. I was weak. I was an illegitimate reservation girl with a lot to prove. But I stumbled when my goal was within reach.”
“That sounds like something you were told. Not something you believe.�
� Kye swallowed the rest of his words. Every time he thought he couldn’t dislike Bronson Battise more, she said something that made that a lie.
He’d heard the PR spin before he ever met Bronson or his daughter. It was part of his bio. Everyone said how magnanimous Battise was to take in troubled teens from reservation lands and teach them a trade. It made a touching story. Except that in the instances of Law and Yardley, they were his kids, abandoned years before.
He glanced back at Yard. She was staring at him with those eyes that seemed as large as the ones in velvet paintings of trembly-lipped children and animals popular when he was little. He wanted to hold her and take her pain away.
But she didn’t need his pity. She was a fighter. She’d had to be.
“I don’t know how your father found out about us. He confronted me the day my unit was leaving. Told me to keep the hell away from you. If I ever contacted you again, he’d see to it I was tossed out of my K-9 unit.” He’d go to his grave keeping silent about the part where Bronson said his daughter didn’t matter and wouldn’t inherit jack shit from him. But he owed her this truth.
“I was young and stupid. And a coward. I didn’t know what else to do. So I left. I know it’s too little too late but still I owe you an apology. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “At least you’re honest.”
The silence stretched out again.
“Why did you come here?”
She’d asked that question many different ways in the past twenty-something hours. Here it was again.
“It was a chance to see you again.” It was that simple and that true. And he didn’t know what to do with that. “I don’t want anything from you. Not even an acceptance of my apology. It’s just that it’s always seemed like there was something unfinished between us.”
She turned her head again, canting it to one side. At first she simply stared; then her gaze became something more. Something turning up the heat in the dark depths of her eyes. Something thickening the tiny pulse that beat in the sweet hollow of her throat. Something climbing her cheeks like wild roses. He saw her lick her broken lip, the husky words forming there before she spoke. “I want something from you. May I?”
He smiled, not quite sure yet but going there anyway. He leaned back onto his pillow and folded his arms behind his head. “Help yourself.”
She reached for the bedding and threw it back. He watched her eyes widen at what she’d revealed.
He slept naked. Of course, he hadn’t been expecting company. Too late now to play coy. Free of the bedding his cock sprang up, thick-veined and heavy. It lengthened and bloomed under her gaze until it arched high off his thigh, trembling with each pulse of his heartbeat.
She didn’t hesitate. She scooted out of her pajama bottoms, leaving her top on, and then threw a bare leg across his. He caught a glimpse of a Cherry Coke shadow between her thighs and then she was settling her weight on his legs just behind his swollen cock.
She took him, using both her hands, and squeezed firmly. “I want everything you’ve got.” She tugged, pulled at the root of him until he gasped. “Can you give everything?”
“All yours.” His voice was a husk of a whisper. He’d long ago given up trying to understand the workings of a woman’s mind. After the business with Stokes, and then her confession only moments before about how her father had treated her after he left her all those years ago, he’d have thought she’d want his balls on a platter. Instead, incredibly, her smooth warm fingers were cupping them, massaging his dick in mind-blowing ways that felt too damn good to analyze.
His lids dropped down until his eyes were mere slits as he watched her work him with the concentration of a man in mortal danger. He could feel himself growing and thickening with each stroke until she had coaxed him to near bursting.
“Yard.” He heard the plea in his voice and wondered if he were dreaming.
“Shhh.” She leaned forward and placed a finger over his lips. Her hair, free from the usual knot, slid down over her shoulders and tickled his arms. And then she kissed his chest. Quick little butterfly kisses that barely registered had the power to expand his lungs with the need to keep breathing so he could experience every second.
She licked his small flat nipple, her tongue making little wet circles around the center. He wanted to touch her back. To hold and stroke and taste. But he didn’t. Not even when her tongue licked across the arch of his ribs. And then his other nipple. Her hands had not left his cock. She was working the shaft with both hands, pumping him as she slid her tongue down his chest. It left a wet trail that quickly chilled in the cold room. Yet the shivery feeling running over his skin only made him hotter, and stiffer. Her tongue trailed liquid sex as it dipped into his belly button and circled, slowly, twice.
He lost the battle to keep silent. A groan vibrated deep in his throat. He moved an arm to throw it over his eyes so that he could feel. Just feel. Everything.
He felt her shift backward, her bare ass sliding down his thighs. He braced in anticipation. Knowing, hoping, what came next.
When she touched her tongue to the tip of his cock it jerked involuntarily. And then her lips, warm and wet, were sliding over it, expanding to accommodate the smooth knob.
She licked him, tracing the length of underside with her tongue as she sucked him in. He levered up in the bed, unable to remain still any longer.
“No.” She raised up and put a hand on his chest.
He stared at her with hot eyes. She still wore a slouchy top, covering every inch of her from neck to fingertips to thighs. How easy it would be to grab her arm and pull her forward and snatch off that offending garment. Then flip her over so that the wonderful warm womanly length of her would be skin-to-skin under him. But it wasn’t going to be like that. To his astonishment, he went back onto the bed when she gave him a little push.
He’d never understood the supposed pleasure in a man giving up control. With Yard, it was an aphrodisiac. They weren’t kids just learning their own sexual natures. They were partners in pleasure. Her play. Her moment. His to accept. Hot damn.
She rose up on her knees and inched forward until a knee was aligned on either side of his hips. Still holding his cock in one hand, she lifted the hem of her top to reveal her sex. He stared at the apex of her thighs. His hands clenched. He could look but not touch. Oh, but if looks could thrill.
From somewhere—as if it mattered—she had produced a condom and was smoothing it down over him with the firm potent touch of her hands. He was grateful because he was beyond caring about such considerations. But that was Yardley, always prepared, whatever the situation.
She squeezed his cock, directed it to the right angle, and began making little circles with her hips. Each undulation brushing his tip with her sex. Each rotation producing a little more friction. Parting her lower lips. He could feel the heat. The wet warmth of her spread over him like honey. It was the most erotic dance he’d ever seen. More sensual than a lap dance. Slower than a bump and grind. It was all he could do not to arch his hips and claim her.
But this was her party.
She sank down on him very, very slowly. An inch at a time. After each inch she paused, closed her eyes, and breathed slowly, as if encompassing him was a pleasure to be savored, recorded with her senses. The walls of her sex fluttered, expanded, caressed. He’d never felt more potent, or important, or appreciated.
When she had slid that final inch onto him his rougher sigh echoed hers. She was near to bursting with him. He filled every space within her so tightly that just breathing made little contractions erupt around him. And then she began to move.
She rose up, her hands pressed to his chest, and again circled her hips before dropping down so that he sank deep within the wet silk of her core.
He tried to be patient. But first one hand and then the other moved to find the shape of her waist. To hold her, rock her, help direct the exquisite torture of her lovemaking. Yet she set the pace. This wasn’t for amateurs. Twenty-one wouldn
’t have made it last. Thirty-six gave him just enough control to dangle on the edge of sexual oblivion, for her pleasure.
He began to sweat. His chest became slick with the exertion of holding back. Her hands moved and firmed on the curve of his biceps, fingers digging in on hard muscle as she began to ride him harder, quicker, with an urgency he had no trouble matching.
Little gusts of pleasure pulsed through her parted lips as she moved, riding rough sweet desire.
She suddenly changed rhythms, went into a frenzied pumping action. His hands clenched her hips so that he could match her thrust for thrust. He heard her hiss in pain, remembered the bruises, and let her go.
She looked down at him, frowning. “Don’t stop.”
That was all the invitation he needed.
Climax. Such a pitiful word for the explosion of body, mind, and emotions that erupted between them. She was breathing harshly, a woman on the verge, and he was gasping at the freight train rumbling straight through his cock.
There was nothing staged or controlled about Yardley’s orgasm. She rode him like an expert rodeo bull rider, hanging on for dear life yet still driving him on until she’d wrung every drop from him.
He came so violently it bordered on pain and then drove right through it.
She collapsed across him, sweaty hair veiling his face, clinging to his lips, her heart pounding against his ribs. Bodies glued together. Her mouth open and pressed into the side of his neck.
Kye swallowed, trying to slow his heart but too damn impressed by what had just happened to care if she’d given him a heart attack.
They hadn’t even kissed.
He hadn’t gotten to undress her.
Hadn’t really gotten to touch or hold or taste her.
Now he knew those puny things didn’t count.
This was ecstasy. He’d only visited in the neighborhood before.
Yardley Summers was the Sweet Spot.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Yardley woke up smiling. She couldn’t remember why until she turned her head. Inches away, Kye lay facing her. His eyes were closed, long dark lashes lying like fringe against his upper cheeks. She almost reached out and ran a finger down the blunt wedge of his nose but hesitated, in case she woke him.
